


caesura

by noyabeans (snowdrops)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Graduation, Growing Up, M/M, Post-Canon, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-29 02:46:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13917744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdrops/pseuds/noyabeans
Summary: Yaku gives Kuroo his second button.The world slows to a stop as Kuroo stares at Yaku, uncomprehending. It suddenly feels like he is carrying a thousand tons in his right hand, and maybe that isn't wrong. He curls his fingers around it, wondering if this is how it feels, to have the weight of someone's heart in the palm of his hand.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _The second button is the one closest to the heart, and is said to contain the emotions from all three years of high school._

The world slows to a stop as Kuroo stares at Yaku, uncomprehending. It suddenly feels like he is carrying a thousand tons in his right hand, and maybe that isn't wrong. He curls his fingers around it, wondering if this is how it feels, to have the weight of someone's heart in the palm of his hand.

"Yaku, you—"

Yaku's blushing, but he's got both arms crossed as he returns Kuroo’s gaze evenly. That's changed, Kuroo knows. Yaku is no longer the hot-headed boy he used to be three years ago. He is calmer now, more level-headed and less prone to anger and outbursts and aggression.

"This changes nothing," Yaku says, like he hasn't just dropped a sleek enamel bomb into Kuroo’s hand. "You don't need to do anything."

"Wait, Yaku— what? but why?" Why would he just drop the second button into Kuroo’s hand, as though he were lending Kuroo some coins for the vending machine, as though it wasn't a major confession of feelings, as though it wasn't an I Like You in bold?

Yaku gives him an incredulous look, as though the answer is obvious. "I just wanted to let you know, before I lose any chance to."

 _That’s not obvious at all_ , Kuroo wants to say.

From somewhere far behind them, he can hear cheers and excited voices. The noise brings him back to the harsh slap of reality — that high school is ending, has ended; that Yaku’s parents are waiting, somewhere out there near the foyer; that the tie around his collar is growing increasingly tight, its familiarity stifling in the sudden silence sitting between them.

His hand twitches, caught between wanting to reach out — for Yaku, or something else, he doesn't know — and not moving at all. What should he say? What can he say?

“I need to go,” Yaku says then, breaking through his train of thought. He’s biting his lip, even as he stares stubbornly somewhere to the left of Kuroo. “My parents are waiting. I’ll see you at the team party on Saturday?”

Before Kuroo has a chance to react, Yaku’s already swiveling away, his shoulders hunched with some tension Kuroo has never seen before as he makes to take a step away from Kuroo, back into the main school compound. Something surges up within Kuroo, hot and blazing and desperate.

“Wait, Yaku,” he says, and Yaku freezes.

Kuroo doesn’t realise what he’s doing until he’s already ripped the button off his uniform, his heart pounding. He hadn’t planned on giving it away. Sure, he’d idly played with the thought, but it’d seemed so ridiculous. His theoretical recipient wouldn’t have taken him seriously, he’d figured.

What’s ridiculous is how that theoretical recipient has turned those tables on him.

What’s ridiculous is what he’s doing now, he thinks, gulping as he grabs Yaku’s arm to make him turn back around. Eyes wide with bewilderment and face still flushed, Yaku doesn’t put up any resistance as Kuroo reaches for his hand, but he tenses the moment they touch. The movement sends a pang through Kuroo’s chest; he’s never felt Yaku so uncomfortable around him before.

Unfurling Yaku’s fingers, Kuroo places the button into his open palm, frayed threads and all, and closes his hand back over it. He takes a deep breath.

“We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to,” he says, words coming out in a rush before he loses his nerve. “Just— just take it.”

Yaku stares at the button, then back at Kuroo, a frown etching itself into his features. “Are you pitying me?”

Kuroo’s blood runs cold at the words, even as he cracks a nervous laugh. _Pity_? It was fear of this exact reaction that had held him back before, but it is fear that is driving him to do this now. “No! Why would you even think that?”

There’s a scoff from Yaku. “It's the kind of thing you'd do. Wanting to get the last say, or something. ”

“I thought you'd know me better than that,” Kuroo says, all humour gone from his voice. “I'd never play around with—" he makes a vague gesture, “this.”

He'd never mess with anyone's feelings. Especially not Yaku’s, of all people.

Yaku scrunches up his nose, studying Kuroo’s face, as though searching for a hint that he might be joking. Kuroo takes the chance to stare back, looks at the way the late afternoon sun catches on the light waves of Yaku’s hair. It's stupid, he knows — they're not parting forever. They're both staying in Tokyo for university, and their schools aren’t even that far apart.

It's not like anything ends here, other than their days of sitting together in the classroom, scrawling on each other's notes and stealing food from each other's bento box.

But even so, Kuroo commits to mind the image of Yaku standing before him, a slight furrow between his eyebrows and an uncertain slant to his lips. This is the only and the last time he'll be with Yaku here like this, buttons clutched tightly in sweaty palms and the early spring breeze nipping at their cheeks.

There is so much Kuroo wants to say. The words sit heavy at the tip of his tongue: _Hey,_ _I really like you, you know_ , or _Go out with me, Yakkun_ , or —

Instead, he says, “You need to go, don't you? Your family must be waiting.”

It sounds lame, even to himself. Yaku studies him again, then nods. “Yeah. I do.”

He closes his hand over the button, and fishes out his wallet. Kuroo watches him place it into the coin compartment and zip it, feels the one that Yaku had given him sink heavily in his own pocket.

“See you on Saturday,” Yaku says.

“Yeah, see you.”

His hand trembles as he watches Yaku turn and walk away. He wants to stop Yaku, tell him to not go, to stay here with him.

Now left alone in the shadow of the gym, he fishes out Yaku’s button, feeling something twist in his chest. So much. There could've been so much.

Yaku had planned it all from the start, he realises as he runs his fingers over the button. The ends of the threads are clean, snipped off and tied in a tiny delicate knot. It looks nothing like the hasty mess he'd shoved into Yaku’s hands.

But chances are chances, and Kuroo supposes it a blessing to himself that he'd taken this one.

*****

“Did something happen?” Kai asks as he drops down into the seat next to Kuroo, a cup of soda in his hand.

Kuroo blinks at him, tearing his eyes away from where they've unconsciously drifted to Yaku standing with Shibayama. “Huh?”

Kai merely nods in Yaku’s general direction. “You've been staring at Shibayama and Yaku for the last ten minutes.”

“Oh.”

“What happened this time? You guys didn't get into another fight right after graduation, did you?”

From the look on his face, he would be far from surprised if Kuroo said yes.

Sighing, Kuroo picks at the _tempura_ on his plate as he mulls over the words to say. What happened? So much happened, a confession, two confessions, and yet— nothing. Three days on, neither of them have spoken to each other about it. In fact, they haven’t spoken much at all sans a quick text earlier today from Yaku reminding him to bring the gifts they’d prepared for the juniors to the party. The silence isn’t unusual in itself, since they aren’t in the habit of being text buddies, but right now, it is nerve-wracking. Has it irrevocably damaged their friendship?

 _Yaku happened_ , he thinks drily. He should have known from the moment they met in the locker room on their first day in Nekoma that everything would change.

“We exchanged second buttons,” he opts to say at last. The music blasting through Lev’s living room speakers is loud enough to drown out his words, and for a while he thinks Kai hasn't heard him.

Then Kai moves, taking a sip of his drink before he says, “I see.”

Even after three years, Kuroo still finds himself wondering if anything _ever_ surprises Kai.

“So what happens next?” Kai asks as he sets his cup back down.

At the question, Kuroo pauses. Truth be told, he doesn't really want anything to happen. If nothing else, Kuroo would like to think of himself as a rational and pragmatic person. He knows too well that he can't stand the thought of losing Yaku forever if a relationship doesn't work out, enough that he would willingly forgo the opportunity to be in one at all.

Even if they stayed only as friends — that would be more than enough for Kuroo, as long as it meant he could still have Yaku around. That was what he’d told himself when he talked himself out of giving Yaku his button on graduation day. Of course, he hadn’t counted on _Yaku_ giving him his button. Then again, maybe he should have; Yaku has always had the tendency to mess up his best-laid plans.

He shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he offers honestly. “Talk it out, I guess.”

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words. “But no, I don’t think — I don’t think anything will happen.”

He lifts his eyes to meet Kai’s, wary of what he might find. But there is no pity or sympathy in them, only patience and understanding. A beat passes, before Kai’s lips quirk up.

“You two have never been good at that,” he says, a hint of a laugh in his voice. “The talking thing, I mean. Remember when you got into a fight over eggs at the supermarket and broke the entire carton?”

“No!” Kuroo makes an offended noise in the back of his throat at the unnecessary reminder. They’d been planning to make a cake for their coach, back in first year, and had gotten into a disagreement over the better brand of eggs. One thing had turned into another, and it was really not his fault that Yaku reacted so explosively to any comments about his height…

But he catches the mischievous glint in Kai’s eyes, and the embarrassment quickly gives way to laughter. On hindsight, it’s testament to how much they’ve grown since then. Not just himself, not just Yaku or Kai — but all three of them, all together.

Kai shifts, and Kuroo follows his gaze as it lands on Yaku, who is now comforting a very emotional Lev with the fond, bemused exasperation that Kuroo has long grown familiar with being the target of.

“I’m not _dying_ , idiot,” he chastises from where Lev has caught him in a death grip, voice carrying even over the Aqua Timez song now blaring in the background. He gives Lev a few awkward pats on the back that are presumably meant to be comforting. “It’s just graduation. I’m staying in Tokyo.”

Then he looks up over Lev’s shoulder, and meets Kuroo’s gaze, as though they’re in one of those scenes out of the shoujo manga he always mocks Daishou for reading.

And maybe it’s the ridiculity of this situation right now — Yaku trapped in Lev’s arms, trying to break free of them, Kai and Kuroo looking on, drinks clutched tightly in hand, and the shadow of high school fast disappearing behind them — but Kuroo watches Yaku’s eyes crinkle as he throws his head back into a laugh, and finds himself following suit.

 

Later, when Yaku finally escapes from Lev’s grip with the fifth grumble of _No, I’m not leaving Tokyo!_ , he drags himself over to the sofa where Kai and Kuroo are sitting, nudging them apart so he can settle between them.

“Bossy,” Kuroo chides automatically, but moves anyway. Squeezed together as they are, Yaku is warm where their legs press against each other.

Sticking out his tongue, Yaku reaches for the cup of cola that Kuroo is holding. Kuroo hands it to him without thinking twice, so used he is to having Yaku step into his personal space like he is right now.

Maybe it isn’t entirely accurate to say Yaku is stepping into his personal space; Yaku had, at some point in the last three years, carved a space for himself in Kuroo’s life and never left.

The thought makes Kuroo’s heart clench. How had he never realised before?

Saying something about joining Fukunaga and Yamamoto in their heated game of Monopoly, Kai moves away some time later, leaving Kuroo alone with Yaku on the sofa. Even with the additional space, they’re still sitting right next to one another, neither of them making an effort to move away.

“Hey,” he says then. “Wanna get some fresh air?”

Yaku gives him a pensive look. Then he nods.

 

It’s cool outside as Kuroo slides the glass door to the top-floor balcony shut. Quiet, too, without the ruckus that Yamamoto is raising inside about Lev breaking the rules.

He joins Yaku at the balustrade, looking out across the lights dotting the neighbourhood. Tracing them, he finds himself mapping out the path to where Nekoma sits, just two streets away. So close, but so far away.

Then Yaku shifts, jostling him with his elbow and rudely knocking him out of his reverie. “You’re getting all sentimental again,” he mutters.

Kuroo snickers and looks over at Yaku, his features half shrouded in shadow, half illuminated by the glow of the streetlamps below. “You would know.”

“I can hear it from over here,” Yaku grumbles, resting his head against his folded arms on the balustrade.

They'll talk in circles around each other, Kuroo knows. It's what they're best at. He should bring it up now, get the conversation they're both avoiding out of the way. It's what he _should_ do. Or maybe Yaku should. Same difference, in a way.

And yet, another part of him wants to just stay here like this, watching the flickering light in Yaku’s eyes, surrounded by the buildings and the night sky, and the occasional purr of a car driving by.

Then Yaku turns around, and the spell breaks.

“This is about the button, right?”

Straight to the point, with no preamble whatsoever. Still incapable of reading the mood, even after three years, Yakkun.

But though his voice is steady, Yaku’s shoulders are stiff, and he's not quite making eye contact. They haven't spent three years on the same team for nothing; he knows Yaku’s nervous, too.

“Yeah, it is,” he says carefully.

This is usually where Yaku lets out everything he's been thinking in a single breath. It’s usually annoyance, directed at someone — Kuroo himself has been on the receiving end of an angry Yaku tirade too many times to count.

Yaku takes a deep breath. Kuroo watches the way his fingers curl around the metal railing. Slender fingers that have been bruised and bandaged so many times, the armour and weapons that Yaku has always donned. They are uninjured now — but of course, after all the months they have spent off the court.

Kuroo can't help wondering how it would feel to thread his own fingers through them. To feel the raised scars on them, the trophies of Yaku’s dedication, sacrifices and victories.

“I meant it when I gave it to you,” Yaku says. He bites at the inside of his cheek, fingers drumming on the balustrade. His voice is softer when he speaks again. Quieter, almost scared. “But I— I also meant it when I said I don't want anything to happen. I think we're better off as friends.”

“Why?” Yaku startles at the slight bitterness in the word, eyes widening like a cornered animal. Even Kuroo himself is surprised at the tumultuous churning in his chest. He _knows_. He expected this.

But it hurts nonetheless, hearing the words out of Yaku’s mouth like that. Harsh and damning, dashing every single hope he'd ever dared harbour, and vanishing them without giving Kuroo so much as a choice. “You already know I like you, so why don't you want to give it a try?”

There's a moment where it feel like time freezes and neither of them seem to breathe. Then Yaku’s eyes narrow.

“Because I can't stand the thought of losing you forever if we fuck it up,” he bites out at last. “Think about it. What are the odds that we won't fuck us up? We're 18, Kuroo. I don't think either of us are ready, no matter what we think.”

His voice is shaking now, from some force of emotion — maybe frustration, maybe sadness, or maybe guilt. Maybe a combination of all three. His eyes are glossy when he glares up at Kuroo. Kuroo’s heart squeezes, the anger passing just as swiftly as it came, like a storm cloud blown away by the wind.

The words hang between them there, in the space of the rooftop.

Yaku has a point, he knows. Kuroo isn't about to believe that just because they like each other, they'll be able to make it into their 80s together. That's not how relationships work. And Kuroo knows too — almost every high school relationship fizzles out before long. Who is to say that this isn't just some passing fancy?

He looks at Yaku. Yaku, who's gone from enemy to teammate to friend to tablemate and study partner. Yaku, always strong and unwavering, now looking at him like the world is hinged on a precipice, trusting that Kuroo won't let it fall apart. It's so unfair of Yaku, really, and yet endearingly flattering.

A lump swells up in Kuroo’s throat. Who would've thought it would come to this?

His feet move of their own accord, bringing him closer to Yaku. Yaku freezes, his legs already poised to back away.

“Okay.”

Yaku stares at him blankly. “Huh?”

“I get where you're coming from,” Kuroo says, scratching his neck awkwardly. “I just— Sorry, it feels pretty shitty to be rejected by the guy you like, y’know.”

Yaku’s gaze falls again, and Kuroo feels his heart drop. “No, but I get it, Yakkun! You're right, we're both not ready now. Heck, we can't even do this talking thing. This is better for us.”

To Kuroo’s relief, Yaku’s shoulders relax a little. “You're not mad?”

His voice is terribly small. It's not a voice he'd ever like to hear from Yaku again. Small doesn't suit Yaku. Yaku is brave and bold and larger than life. He's anything but small.

“No, I'm not,” he says, trying for a reassuring smile. Yaku returns it, albeit slightly watery.

Kuroo pauses, picking his next words carefully. “But I have one request.”

“What?”

“I really want to hug you right now. Can I?” _Can I know, for at least once in my life, how you would feel in my arms?_

“You could've just asked, idiot,” is all Yaku says, before he’s crossed the gap between them and burying himself into Kuroo’s chest, arms coming up around his back.

“What? I just did,” Kuroo says, bemused. Yaku shakes his head into Kuroo’s shirt, and Kuroo suddenly realises that the front of his shirt is becoming damp.

“You're the idiot,” he mutters fondly as he wraps his arms around Yaku, bringing him closer. Yaku is warm and solid against him. Kuroo wonders how someone could at the same time be so close, and yet so far away. “There's nothing to cry for. I'm still here, aren't I? I'm not going anywhere.”

When Yaku pulls away from his arms, Kuroo lets him go without a fight. His eyes are red-rimmed, and his voice is shaky when he speaks.

“In the future—" the words catch in his throat, but Kuroo understands anyway.

He nods. “I know.”

*****

_The aching and the breaking are the making of a soul._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending quote from The Residents, [The Making of A Soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OlrMT2gWWY).


	2. Chapter 2

“— so she was like, ‘You know, fresh grads like you should take every chance to get _exposure_ and build their portfolios.”

The scowl is audible in Yaku’s voice as he tapes the box of clothes shut with more force than necessary. “And she offered me ¥15000. _¥15000_! To build an entire app from scratch with a shopping cart and virtual inventory! What do they think app development is? Drag and drop CSS elements and add a little magic powder for good measure?”

“For exposure,” Kuroo echoes mockingly from the other side of the room, where he's emptying one of Yaku’s drawers. “You should've asked her if exposure could pay your hostel fees.”

“No way in hell.” Even though he can’t see Yaku from here, Kuroo can hear the eyeroll.

The drawer is full of little knick-knacks and stationery. _And he says he’s not a stationery addict_ , he thinks fondly.

He's just picked up a box of paperclips when Yaku speaks again.

“Right, how was your scholarship interview?”

Kuroo grimaces, thankful that Yaku can't see his expression. He puts the paperclips into the cardboard shoebox he's carefully balancing on his thigh. “The interviewer was really nice. But I messed up on the last question of the test, so I'm not counting on getting in.”

“Hm. You never know, though. When will they get back to you?”

He sounds distracted. Kuroo squints at him, as he reaches into the drawer. “They said this Friday.”

“That's not too far away. What about the job you were talking about the other day?” Yaku's examining something he's just pulled out of his bookshelf. Even from this distance, Kuroo recognises it as the Nekoma yearbook.

He turns his attention back to the small ziploc bag he's just fished out from the drawer while he was talking. “The junior role at Johns—"

The words die in his throat as he realises what he's holding. A white button, frayed threads and all, neatly slotted into the ziploc bag. There's a label on it that says 2013, written in Yaku’s familiar hand. The year they graduated from Nekoma.

“Are you okay?” Yaku asks, likely surprised by Kuroo’s sudden silence.

“I can't believe you brought this here,” Kuroo says.

“What?”

Then Yaku is treading gingerly through the boxes littering the room, towards Kuroo.

When he realises what it is, he doesn't blush as Kuroo had expected, only scowls. “What's so unbelievable about that? It's not like I don't know mine is in your wallet.”

Plot twist! Kuroo can feel his neck burning. “Why have you been poking around my personal belongings?!”

“Ha? Do you know how many times you've said, ‘Just take it from my wallet’ when I wanted to borrow money from you?” Yaku’s eyebrow twitches. “I have better things to do than poke around your wallet! It's not like there's anything valuable in there!”

“Wow, Yakkun. That hurts me deeply. All these years I've provided you kindness, and this is how you repay me? Even as I took time off my busy schedule to help you with packing?”

“You’re an unemployed fresh graduate. Busy schedule my ass,” Yaku retorts. He rolls his eyes, then grabs the ziploc bag out of Kuroo’s hands and puts it into the box himself. Kuroo wonders if he's imagining that he does so with more care than usual.

 

When Kuroo comes out of the shower, he pauses in the doorway to appreciate the result of the day’s efforts — all the boxes have been pushed to the side, all the cupboards emptied.

Yaku’s sprawled out on the bed, hair still damp from his own shower, and Kuroo takes it as his cue to flop down too, some of his limbs draping over Yaku’s body as he does so. “Ready to go home?”

“Can't wait. You're heavy, oi,” Yaku grumbles, trying to shake Kuroo’s arm off of his shoulder.

“Not my fault you're small.”

“The hell?” Yaku’s eyes fling open to glare at Kuroo.

Okay, maybe Kuroo didn’t think this through enough, because Yaku is much closer than he'd expected. He's crashed at Yaku’s apartment frequently enough during their time in university, sometimes even sharing the bed with him, but they've never been this close.

It feels oddly intimate. Up close, he can see the specks in Yaku’s eyes. His long lashes. The little notch between his eyebrows, like Kuroo’s a puzzle he can't figure out.

Kuroo swallows. It feels like they're both waiting for something to happen. It makes him want to —

He shakes himself out of it.

“So, is that why you never tried dating? No room in your tiny heart for anyone else?” the smarmy grin splitting his face is only ninety percent genuine curiosity.

High school Kuroo would have ended up with a kick to the balls for the question, but he is comfortable enough with Yaku now to get away with it.

“Speak for yourself,” Yaku retorts indignantly.

Kuroo pauses. He hadn’t expected such a direct admission. And Yaku’s not wrong, either.

In the silence, something shifts. Yaku’s watchful eyes are trained on Kuroo now, waiting for a response. His eyebags are still darker than they should be, Kuroo notes, a result of the late nights he'd kept for his capstone project. He'd spent a couple of those last frantic days coming over to make sure that Yaku had his meals on time, and that he went to sleep every night.

Now would be the best time for him to laugh it off, or make another jibe at Yaku, brush away the crackle of anticipation that is crawling up his spine.

But somewhere in the last five minutes, Kuroo’s heart has started pounding. He can feel it against his ribcage. With his proximity to Yaku, he wouldn't be surprised if the other can feel it too.

He follows the movement of Yaku’s tongue as it darts out to wet his lips. His gaze lingers, a little too long, on Yaku’s lips before he flicks it back up to gauge Yaku’s reaction. Yaku doesn't flinch.

“I think… We're both done waiting,” he murmurs carefully. His throat feels dry.

Yaku doesn't say anything to that either.

So Kuroo props himself up on one arm, slowly moving himself closer to Yaku. Yaku can move away if he wants. There's nothing stopping him.

But Yaku isn't moving. His gaze is open, full of trust and patience and something Kuroo can’t describe — like he would give Kuroo his heart and let him break it of his own free will.

His heart swells at the thought. That Yaku would trust him that much, to show him so much.

Body now pressing against Yaku’s, he dips down. He's an inch away from Yaku’s lips when he stops.

“This okay?” he whispers.

It's like something snaps in Yaku then, and he makes an incoherent sound before pulling Kuroo down towards him, closing the gap between their lips.

And this is how four years of waiting end: messy and clumsy and furious and desperate, noses clashing, Yaku soft and warm beneath him.

Kuroo pulls him closer, arms wrapping tightly around him, finally able to hold him the way he wanted to four years ago.

 _I'm never letting you go again_ , he swears to himself.

Then Yaku shoves at him. Seven years later, he’s still terrible at reading the mood, but Kuroo is currently too distracted to complain.

“You're breaking my ribs,” he grouses, colour high on his cheeks. “I've waited for this for too long to let you suffocate me.”

He rolls over so that he's no longer pressed into the mattress, and immediately pulls Kuroo back into another kiss.

Kuroo can feel his own cheeks burning, but the heat pales in comparison to the explosion of warmth within his chest. Yaku’s fingers scramble wildly to intertwine with his, rough and gentle all at once, like a puzzle piece slotting back in its rightful place.

Maybe this is how perfection feels like: Yaku next to him, the future laid out before them, full of possibility and promise.

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to everyone who expected that there was gonna be a part two - you were right!  
> thank you for waiting, just like how kuroyaku waited for each other here.  
> (read more about this fic in my [journal entry](https://noyabeans.dreamwidth.org/23544.html))
> 
> ※ I'd like to thank everyone who's left a comment! I struggle with replying, but I deeply appreciate each comment that I receive. it's very motivating and rewarding to hear that you've enjoyed it, or that it made you have some kind of emotional reaction. consider this as an advance thank you if you're leaving a comment, and feel free to drop by my social media and talk to me if you enjoyed reading this!

**Author's Note:**

> It's graduation season in Japan!
> 
> Thank you [Safyre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily) for betaing!
> 
> [tumblr (rielity)](https://rielity.tumblr.com/) | [twitter (noyabeans)](https://twitter.com/noyabeans) | [haikyuu writing journal](https://noyabeans.dreamwidth.org/)


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